Leann Sweeney - Pick Your Poison

Steven stepped inside. “I see my favorite girl has gotten her name into the newspaper—nice picture, by the way. So tell me, what’s been going on here, babe?”

“I am neither your babe nor your girl , a difference of opinion that probably explains why we’re divorced.”

He grinned wider. “I knew that. Sorry. How’s about you tell me the straight story? Because I’m not sure I can believe what I read in the Chronicle .”

“If you promise not to address me with any word synonymous with child ,” I said.

He held up a hand. “Promise.”

We walked into the game room, his favorite spot when we lived here together—maybe because he’d purchased the big-screen TV, the DVD, stereo, and home-theater equipment himself. Steven sat down on the butter-colored leather sectional and stretched out his legs.

I sat next to him and started at the beginning, when I first discovered Ben in the greenhouse. By the time I finished, Steven was shaking his head in disbelief.

“And you’re doing a funeral for this Ruth person? Then what, Mother Teresa?”

“Save the sarcasm, Steven.”

“If I know you, Abby—and I do believe I’m familiar with every square inch of skin and strand of hair—you’re more than a little interested in why Ben got himself killed. Does your curiosity have anything to do with this charity project?”

“I would have helped Ruth Grayson no matter what. After finding Ben like that, I feel so... so... responsible.”

“Responsible? Some nutcase kills a guy and you feel responsible? I don’t get it.”

“I never took the time to get to know Ben, to really talk to him—and I should have.”

Steven reached over and took my hand. “You’ve had a rough few months since losing Charlie. Cut yourself some slack.”

“But why do I feel so guilty?”

“You got me.” He slid over and fingered a wisp of hair near my temple. “I like your hair short, by the way. Like the color, too. Red suits you.”

I could smell his soap, the hint of an unfamiliar cologne, and I was tempted. But I refused to give in, even though lust was powerful enough to transcend insight and obliterate a long list of unpleasant memories, at least temporarily.

I pushed his shoulder. “Stop it. And move back over there where you came from.”

He laughed. “Sure. Whatever you say.” He migrated about six inches away and intertwined his fingers behind his head. “Now tell me how you plan to solve Ben’s murder, ’cause I know you’ve been thinking about exactly that.”

“I’m not planning to solve anything. I might check a few facts concerning the old murder case, though.”

“And how will you do that?”

“Talk to people, maybe dig up old newspaper articles, search Ben’s room.”

“All the things police do, right?”

“Well, yes, but maybe they’ve overlooked something.”

“And where will all this snooping around lead you?”

“I have no idea, but Ben came here for a reason. I want to know why.”

“Even a horse with blinders on can see what’s up ahead, Abby. This could get you in big trouble.”

I drew up my legs and hugged them to my chest. “That idiot cop already thinks Kate or I had something to do with Ben’s death, so what have I got to lose?”

He grinned and nodded. “I like that.”

“What do you like?”

“The fact that someone else besides me has gotten under your skin.”

“Not funny, Steven. Let me remind you that no one, and I mean no one, ever pissed me off more than you did with all your drunken craziness.”

“Hey. We’re supposed to put the past behind us—at least that’s what you told me the last time we talked. I haven’t had a drink in one hundred and forty days, so I’m doing my part.”

“That’s what you keep saying.”

“It’s the truth.”

“Sorry. Guess you have been trying,” I muttered. But why in hell should I be sorry about anything? He was the one who owed the apologies.

I decided to retreat from this precarious ground by changing the subject. “By the way, Kate and I have decided to sell the house. She’s moving in with Terry, and I’m not sure I want to live here alone.”

“Don’t, then,” he said quickly. “Let me move back in.”

“No way. We failed miserably and completely as a couple, and I like to think I learn from my mistakes.”

“One of these days I’ll convince you I’m a changed man and you’ll reconsider.”

What he didn’t know was that I had reconsidered, and then reconsidered the reconsideration. Despite all our fights, despite the long nights when he left here and I didn’t know where he was, despite words that hung like a venomous cloud long after they were spoken, I still wanted Steven. But wanting someone and loving someone are very different.

“Listen,” I said, hoping to ease the tension between us. “I need some work done on the house in Galveston before we get any further into the hurricane season.”

“No kidding. I helped your daddy cart some boxes over there a few months before he died and told him as much.”

“Daddy actually let you help him with something?”

“You know something, Abby? He and I got along a whole lot better after you and I divorced. Guess he figured he had you back where he wanted you.”

“Point to Steven,” I replied, trying to sound like his jab didn’t bother me. “Do you have any big jobs pending?”

“I’m building one house, got appointments to talk with a few people about contracts. Nothing too time-consuming.”

“So you could look the place over, see what needs fixing?”

“I don’t know. I might brush up against you, or touch your hair, or smile at you too much if we work together. Get you all pissed off.”

“Quit it, Steven. We can be friends.”

“Sure. Friends,” he said, unsmiling.

After I gave him a key to the Galveston property, he left, still moping, and as I went upstairs to wash the Shade dust from my hair, I told myself I’d made a mistake asking him for help. But like Daddy used to say, it’s always easier to borrow trouble than give it away.

The next morning Kate and I decided to take Willis’s advice and inform Aunt Caroline about our plans to sell the house. She arrived an hour after we called her, and the three of us gathered in the formal living room—or the “parlor,” as Aunt Caroline liked to call it. Filled with antique end tables, a brocade love seat, tapestry chairs, and a grand piano, the room seemed old-fashioned and pretentious to me, and I hardly ever spent time there. Knowing this conversation would be difficult didn’t make me feel any more comfortable.

Aunt Caroline’s white hair framed her small, pointy face, and I wondered if she’d fit in another face-lift since I last saw her. Pretty soon she was going to run out of skin to tuck behind her ears.

Kate broke the news about our decision, and Aunt Caroline’s reaction was swift and strong.

“You have to be joking,” she said. “This is outrageous.”

“Now that Daddy’s gone, we have to get on with our lives,” I said. “Kate has plans, and so do I.”

“Your father would consider this a betrayal. He came to this city dirt-poor, with nothing but the clothes on his back. When he finally earned enough to build in River Oaks, he felt like he’d accomplished something important.”

“I’m sorry you disagree with us,” I said. “But this house is too big for me to handle alone, and Kate—”

“I could move in with you, then.” She followed this ghastly suggestion with a sigh. “From a business standpoint, selling my house makes far more sense. After that horrible incident in your greenhouse, the property value has probably hit rock bottom.”